Aftermath
by Joan Powers
Summary: Based on Committed Spoilers: Grissom is shaken by an unexpected event GS angst, GS romance He’d taken the plunge, he’d fallen off that cliff, head first and was plunging into, well…the unknown


Aftermath

By Joan Powers

A/N - This is why I shouldn't read spoilers, gets my mind doing crazy things.

G/S angst, G/S romance

**Warning – Potential spoilers for future Season 5 episodes**.

Summary- Grissom is shaken by an unexpected event.

Rating: R

Special thanks to Leslie and msgrits for their fabulous input! Thanks for listening ladies!

A thick protective fog surrounded him, effectively buffering him from those around him. He could hear them speaking in muted tones, as they gathered in a cluster across the room. Occasionally they'd sneak furtive worried glances towards the two of them, with somber eyes and serious expressions. Yet, he didn't care, it didn't touch him, it didn't breach his armor.

It was bizarre, as if parts of him had disappeared, or that they were somehow disconnected. Where were those missing parts anyway? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of much of anything at the moment; he was so tired. He was aware that he certainly hadn't been acting like himself. In fact, saying that he'd been acting out of character was a gross understatement. He himself hadn't recognized the irrational madman that he'd briefly become.

But for now, it didn't bother him; he didn't have to think about it. He didn't even know exactly how long he'd been in that suspended state, most likely at least a day.

His body ached and he was bone weary. But he couldn't go home, nor did he have any desire to do so. He'd drunk endless cups of bitter lukewarm coffee. Occasionally he'd gone down to the hospital cafeteria, to force down a dry sandwich, just enough to keep himself going, though not really tasting what he was eating. He'd been able to doze off and on as he sat in the chair next to her bed, as if on sentry duty, maintaining his vigil. The doctors and nurses no longer attempted to persuade him to take a break, knowing that he wouldn't respond to their pleas anyway.

One of his team approached him, gently laying a hand upon his shoulder. He stiffened at her touch. Her long blonde hair brushed against him as she bent forward to softly recommend taking a walk or getting a coffee. He curtly demurred and swiftly brushed aside the intrusive hand, his gaze solidly fixed upon the pale sleeping form, resting in the hospital bed. Although he knew the woman meant well, in fact they all did, he couldn't allow any one to penetrate his shield. All he had, every last drop of it, was focused upon that patient.

Dimly he recalled that they'd been in the middle of an investigation. He had responsibilities to fulfill. Usually that was a prime motivating factor, for which he'd never been lacking in enthusiasm for heeding the call. Yet today he didn't possess a twinge of guilt as he blatantly ignored its cry. It simply wasn't possible for him to pursue any professional obligations. His priorities had radically changed, so he left it to his fully competent, though woefully incomplete, team.

Everything had happened so fast. Life had been normal, routine, and perhaps even a little dull. Then something happened and he could never be the same again.

He could vaguely recall that he and Sara had been working on a case at the state mental hospital. They'd performed their usual investigation of the scene and they were in the process of interviewing potential suspects and witnesses. However, a patient unexpectedly grabbed Sara, dragging her away from him, although she fought and kicked with all her might. Despite his best efforts, and their uniformed escort's, to thwart the crazed man, he'd managed to lock the two of them in an observation room with glass windows.

That must have been when everything went to hell.

At first, as he heard the door click shut, trapping Sara in the room with that madman, he honestly thought he was having a heart attack, the pain inside him was unbearable, he could barely breath. When the deranged patient actually threatened her, holding a knife against her throat, something inside him snapped, he officially lost it.

Rather than remaining calm and trying to assist the uniformed officers, as he knew he should, he found himself shouting at them, berating them, demanding that they take immediate actions. When their response wasn't instantaneous, seeming far too slow and inadequate for him, he impulsively grabbed his gun and threatened to shoot out the windows of the room.

He would've done it too if Jim Brass hadn't tackled him then roughly dragged him aside. In a tone that would condone no nonsense, he demanded that he surrender his weapon and then he informed him that he was officially off the case. He wasn't kidding around; he looked as if he'd cuff him in a moment's notice.

That definitely must have been when it started, when everything went crazy. When he saw that knife at Sara's throat, black rage had filled him; he was surprised that he could still see. He'd wanted to kill that man; the fury (or was it desperation?) within him had shaken him. He didn't know he had the capacity for the depth of that emotion. Thankfully, it hadn't lasted long. Despite his interference, the police were able to rescue Sara, although not before that evil man cut her.

In the hospital room, he felt his pulse accelerating, so he tried to think about something else as he grabbed her hand and held it tightly. His co-workers were still present, yet that didn't deter him from his actions. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She was slight but she was tough. She'd lost a large quantity of blood but she was a fighter.

Slowly, steadily, over time, she'd gradually gained ground. When she finally became conscious, she accepted his attention, allowing him to stay in his place by her side, allowing him to hold her hand and assist her as needed. Their relationship had subtly changed but they were both too drained to verbally acknowledge it, or offer any involved explanations. For the next few days, they concentrated on healing, taking turns drifting off to sleep.

Several hours before she was being released from the hospital, one of his team tactfully suggested to him that a shower would be a good idea. It hadn't occurred to him, even though it'd been several days that he'd stayed at the hospital. He couldn't recall when he'd last changed his clothes. So he reluctantly drove to his town house to freshen up.

Of course, he insisted upon taking her home, though he felt a little unsteady behind the wheel. No one voiced any objections; in fact they gave the two of them some privacy, not crowding them in that hospital room. While they certainly had their own questions and concerns, they chose to step back, not to intrude.

Unfortunately, as he drove her home, his protective haze was beginning to fade.

When the door to her apartment closed, his shielding was compromised. All those pent up emotions, the anxiety, the anger, the agony, boiled over. He grabbed her roughly and clung to her as sobs racked his body. His defensive barriers had disintegrated. Raw grief caused him to shudder at the thought of what might have been, of what had almost too narrowly been avoided. He could hear the horrible primal cries coming out of him, but it was impossible to repress them. He was completely out of control.

As his sobbing began to subside, their mouths hungrily sought one another. They stumbled into her bedroom and literally fell on to her bed while trying not to break off their kissing. Then they began to fumble with their clothing.

He had a brief lucid moment where he thought that maybe they shouldn't be doing this now. Sara had just returned from the hospital and she was still in recovery. Yet, she'd just pulled off her shirt, and torn off her bra to offer him her breasts, and then her hands were eagerly pulling down the zipper to his pants, so that was that.

After he enjoyed sucking her nipples, he paused a moment when his eyes took note of the angry scar that madman had carved into her chest. Yet the depth of his passion wouldn't allow his anger to resurge. He continued to explore her body with his mouth.

He had certainly lost control, as he'd feared. As they kissed and caressed, he could hear himself moaning, loudly, and Sara as well. At one point he was practically screaming that he loved her, then he continued to gasp her name. This wasn't like him. He'd never been able to completely surrender himself to passion. He'd taken the plunge, he'd fallen off that cliff, head first and was plunging into, well…the unknown. Was it the joys of love, of passion or possibly the horror of rejection, of being absolutely naked and painfully vulnerable?

After he entered her and began thrusting, they clung to each other and rapidly climaxed together, both moaning loudly. As he held her tightly, it occurred to him that during their frantic coupling, neither of them had broached the subject of protection. Yet this was a celebration of life, of second chances. And if a new life sprang from this, well, then they'd handle it. The prospect didn't seem as daunting as it had at one time. In fact, it was almost…appealing.

Was he being brave for the first time in his life? Or a fool?

"God I love you," she murmured.

He sighed contently, feeling that things would work out all right.

THE END


End file.
